if i don't awake
by ekocolabrand
Summary: doumeki watanuki share a drink in the rain


I couldn't tell anymore. I watched as Doumeki slowly poured us both a cup of expensive sake as the moon glittered overhead. One bottle left that somehow escaped Yuuko's drunken clutches, proof enough right there that this had to be a dream.

"It's pretty." He said blankly. The sky, he meant. I couldn't help but agree. It was something pieced together from all my preconceptions of 'night sky'. You could almost see the Milky Way glittering off-orange in the blue-black of the charged night sky.

"Ah," I answered, nodding slightly. I sat down beside him, faintly expecting to see Haruka sitting there too, smoking peacefully in the dark. I took a sip, I wasn't really ever much of an alcohol drinker, unlike everyone else in my life. Doumeki and I sat in complete silence. I could hear the summer cicadas droning noisily and occasionally the soft clink of the glass windchime tied to the porch's rafters.

"You know, your eyes are beautiful like that..." He said without looking over. My lips went thin, red staining my cheeks.

"You only think that because its yours you big stupi--"

"It's ours," He said, closing his eyes and taking a sip. For a split second, the moon reflected in the sake as it met with his lips.

"At this rate, I might never wake up..." I said softly. That wasn't the worst of my fears. The worst was... never seeing him again. Doumeki put one strong hand on my shoulder, through my thin yukata I could feel the roughness of it. Well muscled and calloused from archery, even just resting on my shoulder, his hand gave me a sense of security.

"If you never wake up, I'll just go to sleep too." I couldn't tell if he was smirking or not. There was a definite change in his expression, but with that emotionless bastard you never really could tell what he was thinking. "You have to make me food, though," He added.

"Make your own damn food, you hundred eyed freak! It's not like you'd need to eat anyway,"

"I like Watanuki's cooking," He said, a total deadpan. I stared at him blankly.

"Normally, when you say something like that you're supposed to be like 'OooOOOo I lovE the great Watanuki-sama's brilliant genius cooking~!' or something...you sound about as excited as someone finding out their puppy died!" Talking faster than usual, stammering. Truth was I was extremely happy. So happy I was nearly on the verge of tears.

"I want an Neapolitan Spaghetti Omelette." Taking another lazy sip. He was still facing forward but he was vaguely looking in my direction now. Jerk probably wanted to see me get all annoyed. Puffing up my cheeks and trying very hard not to overreact, I calmly responded.

"And I suppose you want mont blanc on the side?"

"... with red bean."

"Who the hell puts red bean in mont blanc!?" I finally snapped. "Sometimes I think your tongue is just as idiotic as your head, you wouldn't know good food if it hit you in the face," Now that, that might have been a grin. I still couldn't tell. The corners of his mouth did move, I could make out that much. It started, with the sound of a thunderclap, to rain suddenly. "Uwaahh~" I stumbled backwards, attempting to get my legs onto the veranda before they got completely soaked. "Are you dense? Pull up your legs too!"

"No."

"Why not?!" You'll catch cold, you idiot. It'd serve you right.

"It feels nice. It's not real anyway," Tilting his cup completely upright. "More," Begrudgingly, I poured him another, the bottle slick with condensation. "Oi, Watanuki," He said out of nowhere.

"What do you want now?" I asked.

"Lean up against me," I watched individual rain drops fall. I breathed in. In stunned silence the only thing I could think to do was to lean against him. Our slightly damp yukatas only intensified the heat between our touching arms. I felt the stress that had been building up for months flow out of my body. I closed my eyes and smiled.

"If the sun were out, this would be a sun shower, I'd bet. I hardly see any clouds." The few tiny wispy grey forms were like something out of a painting.

The noise of the windchime and distant thunder. The cicadas momentarily silent.

"If I don't wake up, let me sleep by your side," I said in a near whisper.

"I already am there,"

Looking up at dark raindrops in the light of a single lantern, the smell of damp white pine, your shoulder warm and close as you take another moon-reflecting drink.


End file.
